Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Cannonball Read #7: New Moon, by Stephenie Meyer

There is nothing I can say about this book that this brilliant stick figure cartoon already hasn't.

Plot summary:

Sparkle, sparkle, 18th birthday, whatever shall I do now that I'm a people year older than my non-sexual boyfriend, sparkle, sparkle, presents whee!, bleeding eee!, Edward bye, mope, numb, overreact, mope, Jacob's cute, Jacob's just my friend, but Jacob's so sweet, Jacob's just my friend, PRETTY SATIN CURTAINS HAIR, cocktease, cocktease, I LIVE FOR DANGER, mope, disembodied voice of Edward, mope, Italy, suicide by excessive sparkling, whine, make me a vampire!!, whine, The End.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

How I Spent My Sunday, aka Hangover Day, aka DAY OF THE SUPERGATOR

8:30: Wake up. Curse god, my lack of self control, and the toolbox who discovered fermentation's effect on grapes.

8:31: Also curse the Comcast music channels' taste in videos. Because this?

Is not of the lord. This causes four drunken girls to dance around screaming "A licky boom boom down" and then me waking up with it playing in a loop in my head.

9:15: Run to corner store to buy some Advil. Get asked by David the owner if I had a late night. Regret wearing my glasses and pajama pants out in public.

9:17: Go back to bed. When oh when will death come?

11:00: Wake back up. Swallow two more Advil and try not to die.

11:02: It's not working.

11:15: Watch 30 Rock. Allow the sweet sounds of Werewolf Bar Mitzvah wash away the pain.

3:00: Emerge from my bat cave.

5:00: Jess comes home bearing a gift from a student which, while a very kind gesture, can only be described as My God What IS That? The label says "fashion jewelry," but Jess' face says "I will only put this on to make my roommate laugh."


After much debating, and despite my tearful pleas that she wear it as a necklace, it is determined that it's a belt. Balls.

7:00: While watching football, stumble upon the WORLD'S BEST MOVIE on SciFi during a commericial break....Supergator! Starring Kelly "Oh Maverick, fill me with your dangerseed" McGillis!

7:01: Jess and I squeal in joy and immediately declare ourselves on team Supergator. The plot? A, uh, super gator occupies the same vicinity of vacationers and scientists in Hawaii. Chaos ensues. Glorious, delicious, blood splattered chaos.

7:13: Two random women appear, wearing the shortest short shorts in the history of Daisy Duke. As one of them smiles, her makeup cracks. Jess: "Gah! Now I know how old she is!"

7:14: Dub the aforementioned ladies "Asscheeks" and "Too Old For Pigtails."

7:18: Jess: "Did Kelly McGillis' face melt?" Me: "She's morphing into Rick Rossovich!"

7:20: Asscheeks and Too Old For Pigtails become a mid morning snack. Mourn by eating Christmas cookies and drinking wine. NO, I NEVER LEARN.

7:42: Kelly McGillis gets swallowed whole. Cue raucuous cheering. Me: "You haven't failed me yet, Supercroc!" Jess: "SuperGATOR." Me: "Apologies."

7:50: I manage to capture the best still from the movie yet:

Oh random fisherman, it's a travesty you had to die with that 'stache.

8:04: I fucking finally get a shot of the Supergator. He's part velocicraptor, part Yoshi.

8:06: Enjoy your hip shaking now, Hawaiians. Soon you shall be the tasty suckling pig of the supergator's luau!!

8:15: Forget what I said before. Supergator has likely spent time in the Hellmouth, since he's obviously related to the Mayor. The only way to bring him down is to chase him away with an empty box with "Ebola" written all over it.

"That's a spunky little girl you've raised. I'm going to eat her."

8:23: Supergator go boom. Jess and I sob uncontrollably into our bowls of eggnog ice cream and Bailey's.

8:30: Consider drowning grief by watching SciFi's next feature, Sharks in Venice. "Even Great Whites know that Italians make the best meal." Pass out from the awesomeness of the tagline.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Cannonball Read #6: Don't Get Too Comfortable, by David Rakoff

I read this collection of essays about a month ago, so forgive me if this review is brief-ah procrastination, you've plagued me my entire life (note to self: return library book from the 5th grade, other people would like to read the Garfield Treasury #5 as well). I've delved into Rakoff before, via his collection Fraud, and I actually preferred that to Don't Get Too Comfortable. The wit here was a bit dryer, and a little too subtle for my tastes, but still enjoyable enough for a trolley ride home. Thematically, the essays center on Americans and our culture of self-indulgence. As a native Canadian who has spent much of his life living in the U.S., Rakoff manages to be both derisive and analytical as an outsider, but also self-deprecating regarding his adopted home and his American identity. The first essay was actually my favorite: Rakoff, determined to cast his vote against George W. Bush in the 2004, finally applies for U.S. citizenship. It's a fascinating and funny commentary on the electoral process that's also bittersweet. Rakoff ruminates on the repercussions of his decision...what does he have to give up, if anything, now that he is an American? Is his Canadianoscity lessened? Does he have to trade moose for bald eagle? That last question may be one I asked myself in my head.

Another two that I enjoyed revolved around resorts and vacationing in general. Rakoff visits Belize and is witness to a Playboy shoot. I'm a huge fan of gay perspectives of the female form and its alleged sexiness...it's probably why my best friend cracks me up so often, he loves to mock my lady parts and their lack of appeal. The shoot's description just makes me sad, it's comprised of young silicone enhanced women writhing on chaises as the cameraman listlessly monotones directions to spread their legs. Tis The Sexy. In a later essay Rakoff moonlights at a swanky resort as, I believe, a towel boy? A professional smiler? I forget, he's supposed to make the vacationers feel happy and taken care of. Instead of dissecting the privileged's view of those who work in the service industry as I expected, Rakoff instead details just how damned BORING the job was. Once, just once he longs to be told to fuck off, but alas it never happens. Rakoff is sarcastic and unrelentingly observant like Sedaris and Sarah Vowell, and I always enjoy his work, though the guffaws don't come quite as often as when I read Me Talk Pretty One Day and Assassination Vaction. But via Hooter Airlines and detoxing diets, he offers a fresh look at the decadence and absurdity found in today's society.